Those of us who lean towards mysticism (you know who you are) are afflicted with a terrible longing—to know the face of the Divine, to see the Unseen, to feel that we are being supported by something larger than ourselves.

We are also terrified of it. And so when the Spirit comes, we turn the other way, and refuse its offerings, and convince ourselves that we’ve been kicked out of the garden.

The great work of trusting the Unseen is not about accessing some power we don’t already possess, it’s about learning how to recognize the signs that are already here, and saying yes to what comes.

On Tuesday, I fell in the shower and cracked my tailbone… and it was one of the most sacred experiences I have ever had.

Let me explain.

I was groggy, not yet awake, and my mind was spinning. The night before I had had thick dreams about being on trial. My attorney had abandoned me right when it was my time to defend myself and I felt betrayed. I woke up hung-over with fear. I knew something big was unraveling inside of me, and it had to do with my relationship to victimhood.

I got in the shower that morning, barely back in my body, and realized, once the water was running, that my handsoap was on the sink. I stepped out to get it, slipped, and whoosh — landed smack on my tailbone.

It’s Christmas, which I don’t, being a Jew, celebrate. But, just for the record, I’m a fan of Christ—the light, the faith required to love in the face of impossibility, the healing capacities, the realization that we are all divine at our core—these are things I know to be true. And even if I didn’t, I’d still be here—smack in the middle of the darkest time of the year, the inward season— gestating the light-filled seeds for the next year. And where am I exactly? Santa Barbara. Running away, I realized this morning, from my longing. The funny thing is, it isn’t working.